


A is for Alias

by MorganMacCallum



Series: Alphabet Series [1]
Category: Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro
Genre: Detective Noir, yako alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:30:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganMacCallum/pseuds/MorganMacCallum
Summary: The first part of a multi-series of Yako's individual cases as she waited for Neuro to return to earth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy a setting where Yako must work at her own pace while Neuro is off recovering in hell. Don't worry he will always be here in spirit, and perhaps later on~

Westpool was a small village of approximately one hundred individuals of which only twenty knew the murder victim directly: an individual by the name of Dennis Whipman. Dennis Whipman’s corpse had been found hogtied with his spine broken and his tongue, eyes, and penis removed before he was abandoned to bleed to death in the wooded area of Westpool he had been found in.

Dennis Whipman was well-liked by the community not only for his activity, but because he held the same views as everyone else: a perfect sheep and with no known enemies there were no known suspects.

That was when Yako Katsuragi came in.

Still very much in her youth with all the charisma of one, she had not entered the police field through standard means and had to wait until she was eighteen before she was given an official badge although she was known for making trouble long before this age.

She entered the office at nine on the dot armed with a canteen full of coffee and a stack of paperwork finally completed the night before when she was put on the team investigating Whipman’s death. Perhaps due to hearing of her previous experiences, or perhaps because they were low on personnel Yako could only find herself relieved in the fact that she was avoiding another day of typing at her desk regarding other people’s cases and swiftly abandoned her stack in pursuit of her preferred part of her career.

Westpool was surrounded on three sides by sparse forest that had recently been affected by disease with many of the younger birch trees dead or dying much like the man who had been found there some two hours ago.

The woman that had found him had been driving through the only road that went through Westpool on her journey back home, intending to use back roads as it was faster in her opinion, when she saw Whipman by the side of the road. She had initially called an ambulance but Whipman had been dead for at least an hour prior.

‘One thing’s for sure they didn’t try to cover it up.’ To leave the corpse by the side of the road was to purposefully allow for someone to come across the remains, knowing that they would be spotted either by a local or someone driving through. They wanted Whipman to be found.

“Has the family been informed?”

“Whipman has two children who live in the city both fully grown. They’ve been told.” A man, perhaps only half a foot taller than Yako, was making notes as he wandered around the crime scene: his bulbous nose being his only noteworthy trait until he spoke.

“No wife?”

“Died four years ago.”

“Ah.” The blood had soaked through the dry ground, leaves soaked in red. The ground in Westpool was particularly acidic so a body would rot much faster if buried in the area, along with any other organic material buried out of sight. “Where are his clothes?”

“They were found twenty yards away neatly folded. His shoes and wallet are missing though.”

“Is it possible this was also a theft?”

“Hard to say why the criminal would then feel inclined to torture and murder his target.”

“Maybe we’re dealing with a sadist.” She responded with a shrug. “Equally they could be a trophy of sorts. I’m assuming the clothes are being sent away to forensics, then?”

“We should get the results in two weeks. Until then we’re doing the groundwork.”

“I suppose the first question I should ask is do we have a list of people that knew Dennis Whipman?”

The house was square and petite with white-washed walls and a small rose bush tucked into the corner. Yako knew better than to touch the flowers having pricked herself multiple times on such thorns and instead chose to observe them from a safe distance as she waited for her chance to talk to Whipman’s two children who resided inside.

From what Yako saw of the two, they were very similar in appearance and personality having loud voices and very strong opinions and when she entered the living room she thought that, had they not been crying, they certainly would have been loud.

“My name is Yako Katsuragi I am sorry for your loss.” She started before she entered the room, choosing to sit on the sofa opposite them which made an unpleasant sound as she settled in place. “You must understand I must ask you these questions. I understand both you and your sister could be found in the next city over but your father called the house on Sundays?”

It was the brother that answered her, still with tears in his eyes but pushing through them regardless.

“Yes, yes he did he liked to stay in touch to make sure we were doing well. I- I missed his call yesterday because I was in a meeting but Carol got it.”

“And how did he sound when he was calling? Was there anything suspicious about his behaviour?” Carol shook her head.

“No, it was just like any other day. There was nothing out of place that he usually asked and he was in a good mood. There was nothing to suggest…”

“And can you think of anyone that might have had something against your father?”

“No, no o-,” Carol did a strange thing then. Her mouth was left hanging open, paused mid sentence as her eyes wandered in another direction. “There were a few people at the church he did not get along with. I remember him complaining about them, but he never gave out names. Just whining about them, really.”

“And you’re certain you cannot recall any names?” She shook her head.

“No, he was always relatively private when it came to people that upset him.”

“Thank you for your time, Miss Whipman.” She nodded to the men who continued to speak to the siblings before leaving the space.

It was Yako’s decision to stay in the village’s petite inn. Consisting of only two small rooms above the local pub, she received the smallest room and the coldest glare from the owner of the inn when she said that she would be staying the night still dressed in uniform.

‘What’s her deal?’ She thought as she removed her shoes knowing that the likely answer was that she was simply mistrustful towards police forces as they frustrated her or had done her some sort of imagined wrong. ‘Or perhaps unimagined wrong.’

She had taken her time when she had travelled to the local church. The area was mostly Christian where there were no atheists and the large majority of the elderly population visited the church at least every Sunday although Whipman appeared to be a god-fearing man as he visited more frequently and volunteered to help in the tending to the church yard.

‘The very churchyard he will be buried in.’ It was strange to think of it, but at his age he was probably also tending to the plot of land that was set out just for him. She passed by a clear spot and thought it would be the perfect place to bury him, although it was not certain if he thought the same at the time.

The church, much like the inn, was incredibly small intending to only house thirty or so people inside. She took a seat at the front of observed the space around her. It seemed close knit and any sort of argument here would be felt all across the space, she imagined.

She wondered if Whipman was well-liked here or if it were only outside of the church that he was seen as a good fellow. She wondered what they must have argued over, and whether it would be enough to make someone snap.

“Hello, miss, I do not believe we have met before are you new?” She turned and smiled at the man, hiding her flinch.

“No, I’m afraid I’m just another officer although I do intend to stay overnight.” She stood up, and the man still loomed over her by a foot. He had watery blue eyes and skin so pale it almost glowed in the sunlight. She squinted, noting his priestly attire. “Are you in charge of this church, sir?”

“I am. My name is Vincent Dolores; Mr. Whipman was one of our more frequent visitors.” There was an edge of caution in his voice that Yako could not help but observe as she stared him down.

“I heard that Mr. Whipman had a few arguments in the past with some of the people within this church. Can you think of who those individuals may have been?”

The man, perhaps in his early thirties, was quiet for a moment. His hands clenched then unclenched before he sighed.

“Yes, Mr. Whipman had some very… progressive approaches to the world and certain individuals within our church were not willing to listen to his approach.”

“Progressive in what sense?”

“Mr. Whipman was a homosexual and felt all homosexuals should have the right to be married. Two individuals disagreed with him.”

“Can you give me the name of these two individuals?”

By the time that she had booked herself a place in the inn it was too late in the evening to interrogate the two primary suspects, although with no idea as to what their alibis may have been it was inappropriate to suggest that they were suspects at all.

‘Questionable individuals.’ She mused, unbuttoning her shirt and laying it on the chair. She unpacked her lunch and immediately began eating: she would not go down to the pub downstairs tonight lest she attract too much attention. ‘And I would have no one to blame but myself.’ She stared down at her packed lunch, a frown upon her face as she thought over the benefits of visiting the pub so soon after a murder. On the one side she would get some useful intel as to how the community was feeling along with some interesting conversations, but at the same time she would stand out more than usual as an outsider within the community and may be treated with suspicion.

She found herself lingering on the edge of the pub entrance regardless, listening in on the conversations nearest to her. She was still in her trousers and tank top but had no intentions of going in without more casual attire knowing that she would be spotted immediately. She leaned against the nearest wall, staring at the door closest to her as she listened in.

“Did you see all those cops at Mr. Whipman’s house.”

“Went missing last night I heard.”

“Missing? Please, the bastard is dead, and good riddance I say.”

“Do not speak ill of the dead, George, you never know when they’re listening.” ‘George’ was the name of one of her suspects.

George, from what she had been told, was a very opinionated man that had a very clear dislike of people of a certain sexual orientation and while others did not personally agree with him they did tolerate his behaviour because he was likable in every other sense so long as he was not near Whipman at the time.

‘Well there’s one thing for certain, George. The dead are most certainly listening.’ A man passed her by and she smiled sheepishly at him as he left the pub staggering. It was then that she decided it best to go upstairs and wait until morning before she asked questions. It was unlikely she would hear a murderer’s confession in such a large and open place, and even less likely so soon after the murder had happened. No, she would take the professional route and use her own cunning as she saw appropriate.

‘The dead will always have more answers than questions. The post-mortem should be done by tomorrow.’ She thought with a grim smile. She never did well around corpses, and she doubted she ever would. ‘All the more reason to visit.’

Yako never liked visiting the morgue. It did not come as any particular relief to her knowing that the nearest city was as unpleasant in odour as it was in feeling, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she entered the hospital morgue.

The man that ran the morgue was in his mid-forties and was balding, with owl-eye glasses. She left her fresh, navy coat outside, putting on the scrubs, the gloves, and the mask as the man instructed with a cold tone.

Dennis Whipman was a slab of meat on a metal tray. He had been sliced open like a pig, the V-cut stitched together; the skin carefully held in place with black cord. A terrible concept of pulling on the thread entered her mind. She quickly suppressed it, and focused on the man in front of her.

The man pulled back the sheet, revealing the first thing that Yako noticed.

His genitals had been sliced off.

“Done with a surgical knife and in one sharp slice.” The man pointed out, gesturing to the area, dragging a latex finger from right to left. “Like that.”

“And the rest?”

Dennis Whipman was covered in bruises and cuts that had not yet healed. His arms were more muscle than skin, and his eyes were crushed into his skull. The man opened Dennis’s mouth.

“His tongue was cut out in the same manner.”

“And these injuries… were they done before or after death?”

“All before. Likely just before death.”

“And what killed him?”

“It he appears to have bled to death.” She nodded and waited for the man to cover Dennis’s body again. He did so, and put the body back into its freezer.

A strange thing, she thought, that a human could be compartmentalised into such a tiny space. Only two feet wide and terribly cold. She often wondered if the dead could feel it. Feel how cold they were, and how enclosed their final resting place was. She imagined them screaming in their own decaying minds, trying desperately to break free.

She thought of a childhood friend and quickly looked away.

“Anything associated with the killer?”

“Just this…” In a plastic bag she could see short hairs. “They’re going to be tested.”

“Right. Of course.” She hoped they would find what they were looking for.

George was an ordinary enough man with no immediately noticeable features to make him distinct from everyone else, beyond his large bulbous nose. His personality was gruff, and Yako knew immediately that he was hiding something from her; the issue was trying to find out what that secret was.

“I heard that you and Dennis did not get along very often.” She started, tapping her notebook with her pen. It was a nervous habit and one that was difficult to get rid of.

“We did not. Dennis didn’t get along with most of the community, although if you’ll ask them they’ll all say they liked him.”

“And why is that?”

“Keeping up appearances.” He shrugged, his arms crossed in front of his large figure. “This is a conservative community, as you can imagine they didn’t take his preferences too well though they’ve known him for years. Thought of it like mocking his wife’s memory. Only his kids cared to hear his side of the story.”

“And what about you? Why did you feel hostile towards Dennis?” For a moment, George was hesitant. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again before looking around.

The café was quiet with only the waitress and the cook being around, and neither were in the room at that moment. George leaned forward in his seat; it creaked under his weight.

“When we were young men he kissed me in public.” Yako paused her tapping. “Spent years of my life bullied because of it. Dennis didn’t seem to care though, he was proud of what he was.”

“Why did he kiss you?”

George was homosexual as well, though he was not as proud of it as Dennis having had no courage to admit it to his family or his friends for fear of punishment. Dennis knew, however, and in secret they had started a relationship until Dennis grew too bold and attempted to expose their romance in public; it backfired, and the affair broke apart immediately.

George spent his life covering up his identity and, judging from the fact that Dennis had a wife, so did Dennis. However, nobody forgot the incident and Dennis’s reputation remained when he returned to the village. His wife had heard the rumours as clear as day, though she thought them just rumours and not the truth; it was easier that way.

“His kids were picked on for it. I often wondered whether they hated him for it, but when he came out they were… accepting.” There was reluctance, and George looked uncomfortable shifting in his seat. “I could never to that.”

Yako stared at the man before her for a moment. She had described George as vague before, but she could see that in his youth he would have been quite the charmer with a strong jaw and beautiful green eyes. She tried to picture George through Dennis’s eyes and could see how desperately he wanted to be free from the world of secrets; of hushed words and hidden kisses. She sighed.

“Where were you on the night of the murder?”

“I was at home eating with my family.”

“They can confirm this?”

“Easily.”

They could confirm it. The family members all told the same story, with no discrepancies even when told to recite it backwards and out of order. George had an alibi and though Yako knew family also made for a great cover there was no time for him to contact his family to create such an alibi; unless they were in on the murder as well.

‘Even then…’ Usually it was easy to trick a person that was making a story up. Adding information that was not there, making them say it backwards, out of order, getting details wrong, they all usually led to a slip up in the story.

So, she had no choice but to accept it as reality. George had an alibi. He was, as far as she knew, innocent. She stared at her pad and thought about what George had said. Everyone would claim to like Dennis although they all disliked him. The killer could be anyone in the village, and there were a large number of villagers.

“Thinking again, Miss Katsuragi?” Yako jumped out of her skin, almost throwing her notepad into the air. Vincent stood smiling by the church bench, slightly bent at the hip as if to look at her pad. She quickly shut it.

“Yes, Mr. Dolores. I just finished interviewing one of your questionable individuals.” She stated. Vincent was still for a moment.

“And has anything good come out of it?”

“That’s confidential, I’m afraid.” He smiled a little wider.

“Of course, police investigation and so forth.” He took the seat next to her, keeping a gap between them. Truthfully, Yako hardly knew what to say to Vincent.

Yako was not blind, she knew a handsome man when she saw one and Vincent was like an angel under the guise of a human. He had pale blonde hair that curled in waves and a serene face that almost sent butterflies through her stomach whenever he smiled at her. His voice and his charm was altogether staggering for her, though she would not admit to it out loud; she was a detective and certainly not a high school girl any longer.

“I always enjoy this part of the church. You can see the entire village from here.” The bench looked over the hill and over the slight valley the village had been embedded in. It was a truly beautiful view with the orange sun setting over the horizon setting the forest aflame, the street lights beginning to twinkle like stars in the inevitable darkness.

“Yes, it is truly wonderful.” Somewhere in that village there rested a true darkness. A darkness that could kill a man in such cold blood with a perfect smile, and she would hunt down that killer. “I should leave.”

“I hope we can talk again, Miss Katsuragi.”

It was not until Yako was lying down in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, that she realised she had not given Vincent her name. Who had given it to him?

The other suspect was a nervous and suspicious man. With large front teeth, not too different from Yako’s although altogether rattier with his shallow, thinning face, and beady eyes, he was stereotypically suspicious and Yako could not help a particular bias that came her way when she finally sat down in front of him.

He did not take her presence well and could barely touch his coffee despite his attempts to appear unfazed by her, his twitchy disposition only increasing when she took out her notepad.

“I was told that you and Dennis did not get along often. Can you tell me why?”

“B-bastard kept demanding money from me.” He started, which earned a raised brow from Yako. As far as she knew, Dennis had been relatively well off and had no reason to demand money from anyone. He had a well paid job and plenty of retirement money.

“Why was he demanding money from you?”

“So he wouldn’t talk.” The man spat out, and Yako swore spit flew from his mouth. She tried not to cringe.

“Can you elaborate?” The man ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it aggressively. It fell from his ponytail.

“I can’t.” Blackmail, she thought, though she did not know what he was being blackmailed about. She stared for a moment. He was sweating heavily, and his pupils were dilated in fear, he could not stay still and was constantly looking over his shoulder.

“Is there a reason why you can’t?”

“It’ll ruin my life.” Was all he said. Yako wrote it down.

“Where were you on the night of the murder?”

“I-I was alone. In my home.”

“Can anybody confirm this?”

“N-no…” He sounded disappointed with himself, as thought he could not quite accept his own alibi. He knew that he was cornered, and that he was a prime suspect.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”

His name was Michael, he was 38 years old, and he was the second son of a divorced family. He also had an addiction to cocaine that he was struggling through, which he confessed to when the police pushed him. Yako thought this was likely what Dennis had blackmailed him on, as it took a great deal of persuasion to get him to speak.

They took his fingerprints and did a swab on the inside of his mouth for DNA. They would compare it to the hairs they had found on the crime scene, but it just did not sit right with Yako. The crime scene was certainly one of passion, but there was also a coldness to it. Like the flurry of attacks that came before came from an entirely separate individual: the death blow came from someone else, and something in her gut told her that it simply was not Michael. He was a drug addict, not a killer, and nothing felt right to her.

Still, the police wanted their killer and she could not deny that his lack of alibi and his solid motive could just as easily make him a criminal.

‘Still… this just feels wrong.’ It did not feel like enough. She felt…

Cheated.

Like she was being conned, and the strange tingling in her stomach did not fade even as she ate her dinner that evening. Dessert could not even satisfy her. It was more than simple hunger; it was intuition.

‘Somebody that relies on something as lowly as intuition is nothing but a worm.’ Neuro would remind her in her mind, and she smiled, staring out the window into the darkness beyond. Neuro would have solved the case already and have devoured the malice of the killer without a second thought.

‘Neuro… when will you come back?’ She hoped that she was still alive when he finally returned to earth. She hoped she was a renowned detective known for her mystery solving skills by then. Until then, she was stagnant, stumped by pure intuition.

She laid down on the bed and thought. The hairs in the sample were short hairs, and Michael had long hair. She could not make out the colour but they were darker than Michael’s blonde. No, they were the hairs of someone else.

‘Which means the lab should confirm him innocent.’ She sighed, she would have to investigate the entire village at this rate.

Michael was in a horrific state when she returned to his prison cell the following morning. He was raving and rabid, screaming at the top of his lungs trying to escape the officers. He had managed to grab a pen and tried to stab himself in the throat with it before they sedated him.

Yako stayed with him until he woke up. He was catatonic and would not move.

“Hello, Michael, I saw you were having a panic attack back there.” He did not answer. “You know, I don’t think you killed Dennis. I think you are perfectly innocent.”

He did not answer.

“I need you to cooperate with me, Michael.”

Michael opened his mouth. No words came out.

“Michael, I need you to tell me why you tried to kill yourself.” A shaky whisper escaped his mouth. “Can you repeat that? I cannot hear you.”

“A monster.”

“A… monster?”

“A monster killed… a monster killed Dennis.” He was there? He had seen the killer? Yako leaned forward in her seat, very keen to hear what Michael had to say.

“You tell me you were there?”

“A monster killed Dennis. A monster. A monster… a monster. A MONSTER!” He was alight with activity, throwing himself from the bed screaming. “It saw me! It’s going to kill me!” He screamed and screamed and Yako tried to calm him down from the other side of the bars. The officers came it as he scurried into the corner wailing. “I don’t want to die!”

“Michael! Calm down you’re not going to die! The monster won’t get you here!”

“Don’t you understand it’s going to kill me! It’s going to kill me!” He would not be consoled.

Yako spent time obsessing over this supposed monster. Michael was a key witness to the crime if he was to be trusted. Part of her suggested that he could be hallucinating due to his drugs, but another part told her that if he had truly been in the woods at that time and the killer had truly seen him…

She had demanded more security in the area. If he was so afraid that the killer would come after him, then she would reassure him in any way. She needed answers out of him. She needed to know who the killer was.

‘Who is this monster?’ She circled the word over and over again until a thick red circle bled into the page underneath. ‘We need Michael to tell us.’

“What can you tell me about Michael?” She had asked Vincent when she spotted him in the graveyard of the old church. He was not dressed in his priestly attire, instead wearing a dark turtleneck under a beige blazer. He raised a hand to his chin.

“Hmm… he’s always been the nervous type. I was aware of his drug addiction and tried to talk him into seeing somebody about it, but he never listened to me.”

“Did he ever have any hallucinations?”

“Not that I am aware of, but I was not around him during those episodes. He did not come to church very often.”

“I see… thank you.” She shut the notebook. She was hoping Vincent would have more answers. “Oh, one more question. How do you know my name?”

There was a pause, and then a slight chuckle.

“Was I not supposed to know? I’m afraid everyone in the village knows your name by now. I overheard one of the officers calling you by the name at the store and assumed it was you.”

She was the only Asian person on the task force, so it made sense. She still frowned, and this earned a concerned expression from Vincent.

“If this offended you I can assure you it was not my intentions.”

“No, I, uh… to be honest I was suspicious the moment you mentioned it.”

“Please, don’t be. I promise it was only something I overheard.”

“I’ll believe you.” They were quiet for a moment, before Vincent went into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a number written on it. Yako took it, confused. “What’s this?”

“In case you ever need to contact me, and you cannot find me.” Yako thought about his words. Did he mean for more information on villagers, or did he think she was in any way in danger? She stared at him for a moment: his face gave away nothing.

“Thank you.”

Yako was stunned by what she saw. Police tape around a police station was something she had not seen in some time, the flashing blue lights the eerie glow of will o wisp in the night.

“What’s going on here?” She demanded as she pushed forward, showing her badge. She noticed a body being carried off and knew that something terrible had happened.

All of the officers that had been protecting Michael had been shot in the head, and the man himself had died. From what Yako observe of his gaping mouth and wide eyes, he had seen his killer before he died and was terrified. Who would not be?

‘Seems he was right after all…’ She thought bitterly as his corpse was ferried away to the ambulance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yako makes revelations

CHAPTER TWO

Michael lived alone, both his parents and his older brother living separately from him despite helping to pay his rent. The flat was a mess and rubbish was scattered along the floor along with the clothes. It smelled foul and there was a distinct odour of mould in the air.

‘How people live like this I have no idea…’ She thought, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she stepped inside.

Personal items, and items that may be associated with Michael’s mental health, would be more likely to be found in his bedroom, she thought as she stepped over a milk carton, opening the door into the bedroom.

She noted, immediately, how the bedroom window was open, and the room was several degrees colder than everywhere else because of this. As cold as his body, she imagined as she entered. It was barren, for the most part, with only a bed and a set of drawers. She went to the drawers and opened them up, coming across an assortment of useless knick-knacks that had been collected over time.

‘But this…’ She found a notebook that was A5 in size and with a black cover. She opened it and found that it was a diary. It was not often that men kept diaries, not that she was complaining about it; it could help her to identify the killer if Michael had written it down.

She flicked through the pages determined to get to the last entry when the pages suddenly fell short. At least three pages of paper had been carefully cut out of the journal. She blinked, then looked for a rubbish bin. The rubbish bin was empty.

She observed, as she went about the house, that all of the bins were empty, including the one in the kitchen. Despite this, there was rubbish about the floor. This baffled her. She crossed her arms and returned to the room, staring at it with a raised brow as though it could answer her questions for her when it struck her.

‘What if the killer was already here…’ The idea did not come as a surprise. If the killer had seen Michael, as he said, then it would make sense that he would attempt to cover up any evidence that would link him to the crime. Further still, it would be no challenge to him getting in seeing as the window was left open. ‘If that’s how he got in then surely he would have left some trace.’

She went to the window and, pulling on her gloves, searched for any traces left behind by the killer. There were not that could be seen by the naked eye, so she called the police for forensics. Even if it was just a finger print, a bit of cloth, hell maybe even a hair, she would be able to work with it.

She stepped away from the window, and when the police took hold of the space she slipped away back to the inn. That was two deaths associated with the village now, and word was spreading fast; as it so often did in such quiet spaces.

People now locked their doors at night, and when evening came around nobody was left alone. The inn itself was more solemn and people whispered amongst themselves. Yako found that she stood out even more than usual; an unwelcome outsider. She was the reminder of the grisly murders that were taking place in the village.

Somebody sat down next to her. It was Vincent.

“You don’t take me as the drinking sort.” She started.

“Nor do you, Miss Katsuragi.” She smiled, ordering a whiskey. She had a cast-iron stomach and it was truly a challenge to get tipsy better yet drunk. She ordered the drinks for the taste and nothing more.

“What’ll I get you?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the gentleman that gets the lady the drink?”

“I always assumed it was the wealthier individual.” She responded with a smirk. Vincent laughed.

“That’s fair enough, but you have to let me buy the next round.”

“Oh, very well.”

Vincent had as steady a stomach as her and she was impressed by his alcohol tolerance. She was certain any other would be stumbling around dancing to the Macarena by this point in time, but the only indication that Vincent was even tipsy was the slight blush across his face. Yako leaned forward.

“You know, I think I might like you.”

“I would prefer that to hostility, that is for sure.” She giggled. Perhaps the alcohol was finally having an impact on her. She set her glass down. Vincent stood up. “Let me at least walk you to your room.”

“Such a gentleman.”

The journey up the stairs was a quiet one. She had an arm wrapped around Vincent’s arm as he guided her up the stairs, not the slightest waver in his step. He moved like a ballerina was each movement of his body fluid and timed, perfected without the slightest fault. Was it not exhausting moving in such a way? Did he ever stumble at all?

“Here we are.” He cut into her thoughts as they stood before her door. She fumbled for her keys, unlocking the door.

“Well… good night, Mr. Dolores.” Vincent leaned forward and, before Yako could process it, he laid his lips on her forehead. She jumped back, startled. Nobody had done such a thing to her, not since…

“Good night, Miss Katsuragi.”

Yako was still thinking about it in the morning. She had Vincent barely knew each other and yet there was clearly a connection between them. She never had a one-night-stand, thinking herself above such lustful things, and had only ever dated one person in her lifetime; if it could even be called that.

“What is up with me?” Vincent had a lure to him that Yako could not quite understand. She had to remind herself that she was an adult and would not behave like a high school girl with a crush. She would play detective and then she would likely never see Vincent again. “Honestly.”

She huffed, lifting herself from the bed. She threw on blouse and trousers, pulling on her lucky blue trench coat. It was as she was leaving through the front door that she saw another man opening the door next to her. She did not know that there was another guest in the inn.

‘Who’s he?’ She barely saw him out of the corner of her eye, a hulking man with thinning, curly brown hair and a deep tan. That was not what caught her attention, rather it was his eyes. Black as coal, and dark as deep water. There was nothing in them.

She kept her head down as he walked past.

‘What the hell…’ She rubbed at the back of her neck. There was something terribly wrong with the man.

Yako’s instincts were seldom wrong so she persisted in following him. He came into the pub downstairs and settled into a corner table. Yako sat on the opposite side of the pub and ordered fish and chips as she observed the man.

He was quite delicate, all things considered, with how he ate. Yako stared at his face, reading the satisfaction on his face as he ate. Yet his eyes remained hollow. No crinkles around the corner, no light, nothing.

She moved forward.

“Hello, my name is Yako Katsuragi. I’m a detective, may I ask you a few questions?” The man smiled, and Yako saw that, like all other smiles, it did not reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He set his fork and knife in front of him and leaned forward in the seat, gesturing for her to continue.

“Where were you on Monday?”

“I was with the church priest, Vincent, exploring the older part of the church. Truly a wonderful place, the interior on the East side is 13th century.” He started, and for a moment she saw the corner of his lip turn up; she could not tell whether it was a smirk or sneer.

“How long was this for?”

“Hm…” He tapped the table. “Most of the morning, I did not actually arrive in town until around midnight the day before.”

“So, can you recall what hour you saw Vincent at?” The tapping stopped.

“I’d say I got up rather early at seven in the morning, although I joined him at half seven.”

Vincent backed him up. There was no doubt in his voice, and no hesitation in his description. The man had arrived at Vincent’s church at around 7.30 and stayed with him until 10.30. That meant that there was a half hour gap in which the man was unaccounted for.

She had timed how long it took to get from the inn to the church and it took under five minutes. That left him with twenty-five minutes. That was not enough time to maim a man. She timed the journey up to the woods and the journey to the church. Forty-five minutes.

‘Mm…’ Unless Vincent was lying.

She asked around. Nobody had seen the man leave the inn at around seven o’clock, in fact nobody had seen him at all. If nobody saw him leave, it was entirely possible that he could have left earlier. She stared up at the sky and sighed.

Then she paused. There was a CCTV camera.

‘Now that could be useful.’

It did not take her long to catch the man in the act. He was spotted leaving the inn at five in the morning, giving him plenty of time to commit his crime. It was the fact that he lied about when he left that gave Yako a raised brow, but she did not understand why he committed the crime. What was the purpose? Why target Dennis? Why torture him? Why kill him?

‘What is the purpose?’

“His name does not come up in any of our systems, but his face does.” She had gone to the police station with a photograph of the man. “The name he went by two years ago was Carl Harlstone.”

Carl Harlstone had been arrested multiple times for burglary and had been taken in as a suspect in a murder approximately three years ago although he was let go for lack of evidence. Two other times he had been involved in investigations, but each time had been let go due to nothing connecting him to the crime scene.  

‘So, he’s definitely suspicious.’

“I just can’t find a motive.” It was entirely possible that he had no motive. Perhaps he was…

She checked the other cases he was involved in. There was no connection in the victims either.  They were scattered across the country with the only connection being that they were middle-class and had no living children. She stared at the screen until her eyes ached.

“Need coffee?” She jolted from her seat. One of the officers was looking at the screen, a smile on his face. He was similar to her in that he was quite young for the force, stuck with paperwork and determined to take on a new case. Determined for any sort of case.

“That would be great, Jon.”

Yako liked her coffee as dark as it could get. She listened to the sound of the coffee machine steaming in the cafeteria, ordering as much food as she could before sitting down. Jon sat opposite her.

“You look stressed.”

“I am.” She shovelled curry into her mouth. It tasted like plastic, but it was still better than her mother’s cooking. Every day she managed to avoid it she was grateful. “This case I’m on… I have a suspect, but I can’t find a motive.”

“Do you always need to find the motive?”

“Yes, I do.” She huffed, the rice slipping from her mouth. “I can’t stand pointless murder. There’s no such thing as a murder done for no reason, even the smallest reason like ‘he looked like my father’ counts as a reason. If I can just understand why he did what he did-,”

Jon shoved a hand in her face, stopping her rant.

“Catch the guy first and then ask him.” She had to focus on the task at hand.

Carl was entirely undisturbed by the news. He sat in the police station with his hands on his lap and, for the first time, a genuine smile on his face. As though he had been anticipating this and was waiting to get caught. Yako walked in and set her notebook on the table. She did not say anything as she sat down in the chair and turned on the microphone.

“You’re remarkably calm, Mr. Harlstone.”

“That ain’t my name but it’ll do.” She raised a brow. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “I was told I would be arrested by the famous detective Yako Katsuragi.”

“So, you’ve heard of me?”

“Famous for your skills mostly in Japan, solving cases as young as sixteen. You have a mind as sharp as a razor.” She did not want to say that most of the work was done by Neuro so smiled instead. “Then you took a course in criminal psychology and joined the police where you became trapped by paperwork. This is the first case you’ve been on for some time.”

“You sure do know a lot about me.”

“Please, all this information came from my client.”

“Client?”

“You noticed it too. I have no reason to kill Dennis. Don’t even know him. I was hired to kill him and catch your attention.” He said it all with a simple shrug. It meant nothing to him, the death of this man. Nothing at all. It astounded her in a way she could not quite understand. That life could mean so little to an individual.

‘Then again, you have met someone like this before…’ No passion, no greed, no interest and no moral. Just the simple task of taking another’s life.

“Your client. Who is he?”

“Who can say? Never actually met them. They sent me a letter and told me the details of how to kill this man and what to do next.”

“And you accepted?” Carl did not elaborate. He fell quiet, and a strange, thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

“I… don’t know why I accepted.” It was wrong. The man was suddenly quite confused and seemed uncertain with his own nature which was quickly shielded away from her sight. Yako made sure not to forget it. “Either way, I know nothing about them.”

“Do you still have the letter on you?”

As it turned out, he did, but it turned out to be useless as the letters were taken from various newspapers and magazines to make the message. As Carl had said, it was a set of instructions on the target and how to kill him.

‘But what was Dennis doing out in the woods at that hour? What put him there?’ Someone must have called Dennis to the sight. He would not willingly go with a complete stranger into the woods, surely? Did Carl have information on him?

“He was already there when I came to kill him.” He had said when Yako asked about how he had convinced Dennis to go with him. So, Carl did not have to go through such work. Which meant that it had to be the client that called him there.

And from what she got from Carl, it was purposefully to draw her in.

‘But why? What does this person want from me?’

“You have quite an intense expression on your face there, Miss Katsuragi.” Vincent was standing behind her with a warm smile on his face, almost looking amused by what he saw; as most people were when they saw how much she could eat.

“Hello, Mr. Dolores.”

“Vincent, please.” He gestured to the seat opposite her. She nodded, and he quickly sat in the seat opposite her. “You look troubled.”

“This case is turning out to be more complex than I initially thought.” She groaned out, running a hand through her dark blonde hair. “I have the killer, but I don’t at the same time.”

“Oh dear.”

“I have the person that did the actual killings, but he says he was hired to do it, which means that the actual assailant is still on the loose and what’s worse is there’s no way of tracing him. We already tried Carl’s phone and are tracking all of the clients.”

“That does sound troublesome.” Vincent said with sincerity, reaching a hand out to rest it on her own hand. She barely registered the comforting touch. She knew people in Britain were generally more touchy than her Japanese counterparts, so she learned to stop flinching away from it, or assuming that it meant anything but friendliness. “Have you tried looking at the alternative?”

“In what sense?”

“Maybe Dennis came into contact with the client?”

“Well there’s little doubt about that seeing as they were desperate enough to be rid of him to hire a killer to deal with-,” She stopped herself.

“Figured something out?” She stood up sharply. Vincent watched her with a gleam in his eye; the same gleam that was in hers.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Vincent.”

Dennis likely received a call from the killer guiding him into the forest. There was little doubt that if such a call existed then it could be found on his mobile. However, no mobile had been found on the crime scene which meant that it was either in his house or had been disposed of by the killer; all she needed to do was find the last ping spot it had been.

She found it in very little time. The battery was still going, pinging off from the nearest telephone pole. It was not found too far away from the crime scene buried under some leaf litter. She wondered, as she put it in the plastic zip bag, whether it was the client or the killer that had tossed it away. She stared at the old block phone with curiousity in her eyes. The client would surely not be so reckless with their identity. 

'We'll catch you soon enough.' She thought with a wicked grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the first three chapters into a single chapter so if you haven't read chapter three it's the end part of chapter one now.


	3. Chapter 3

The clothes and the hair came back and tested positive for Carl’s DNA, not that he ever denied having killed Dennis. The only thing he was tight lipped on was the person that hired him, and he refused to budge no matter how Yako poked and prodded. Interviews were her specialty because of her ability to get into the mind of the killer, and yet she found herself frustrated by the end of it.

“Upset, detective?” Carl said with a condescending smile, and Yako responded with her own smirk.

“We may have just caught your client.” He scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Unlikely, he’s a professional.” At least she had a gender to work on. It had to be somebody that knew Dennis well enough that Dennis would willingly go somewhere alone to follow their orders; whatever those orders may be. If only the dead spoke as much as people suggested they did. “If there’s any evidence it won’t lead to him.”

Carl was put in a jail cell soon afterwards. He did not call for a lawyer, but one was given to him. He would go to court and be thrown in jail, Yako imagined, so technically the case was closed.

And yet it was wide open.

She did not leave the village, waiting for a call on her mobile regarding the retrieved phone. She was desperate to catch the client. She wanted to pick apart their brain and know everything about them. Picking apart brains was a hobby of hers, and one that raised concerns from her mother and friends. How she could sit at park benches and just watch people, understanding every nuance of their lives. How she knew her cousin wanted to kill himself long before anyone else knew, how she could talk a man into putting down the gun willingly.

And here she was, stuck doing a job that consisted ninety percent of paperwork and ten percent minor crimes. Her boss had only given her a break now because nobody else was willing to do it, working other more important cases. She could not tell what sort of discrimination it was, but he completely ignored her credentials and put her to work dealing with stuff that she personally thought beneath her; and somebody else thought so too.

‘Which means the client also knows who I am.’ It would be impossible to list all of her fans in one go. It would simply take too long, and she doubted she would be able to trace them legally either. With a huff, she opened her laptop and began to type in her password just as her phone began to buzz.

“Yako Katsuragi speaking.”

“So, we went through the list of people that called our victim and the last one was none other than your first suspect George.” The woman had said, scrolling through the list of callers. The last caller was indeed George and, to Yako’s confusion, the conversation was recorded.

‘Isn’t that switched off by default on phones?’ The conversation would only be turned on if it had been manually switched on.

“Are there any other recorded conversations?” She scrolled through. There were no others. So, the conversation was purposefully recorded, but for what purpose?

‘Did Dennis not trust George?’ If that was the case, why would he go somewhere alone with him?

Despite Yako’s doubts, the call did indeed document that George wanted to meet Dennis on the edge of the woods at five in the morning, and Dennis agreed to do it. Why would he do that? Yako took a walk to the crime scene, the scene still taped away from prying eyes. A police car had initially guarded the site, but the driver was absent in that moment.

‘Some security you are.’ She thought with a huff as she lifted the tape up.

Sometimes returning to the crime scene could give her a fresh look at what was around. It was a beautiful forest despite it all, with silvery trees that stretched upwards towards a bleak grey sky. It had been sunny not too long ago, although she had listened to the forecast and knew that it was due to rain in the next couple of days.

Something twinkling caught her eye. Hanging in the tree not too far away from the scene was a necklace. How had they missed it?

‘Surely the client wasn’t able to sneak past security?’ She glanced at the car. ‘Then again…’ Police incompetent always drove her up the wall.

She took the necklace from the tree branch, the branch snapping slightly as she pulled on the chain. It was a locket of sorts and when she opened it up a scrap of paper fell out, dropping onto the ground. She knelt down and picked it up. It was a lined piece of paper folded over and over again. As she carefully opened it up, the message stood clear:

MEET ME IN WOODS 5 -D

‘D?’

There were two potential suspects now: George and D. George sat in the interrogation room with some coffee, his lips pressed tightly together. Yako was not the one doing the interviewing this time, choosing to observe from a distance as Jon finally got an opportunity to do something that was not paperwork.

“So, why were you inviting Dennis to the woods at that hour?”

“We were just going to talk.”

“And yet you never showed up.”

“I lost my courage.” Yako left to get coffee. Jon was a decent interviewer, she imagined he would be able to extract some information out of George. She stared at the letter pined to the board. The case only grew more and more complex the further along she went, and it was beginning to drive her up the wall. Just who was D, and why had such evidence been left behind? Was D hoping to get caught, or was he simply mocking her knowing that she was caught him in his web, forced to work blind towards a figure that she could not see?

‘Bastard’s mocking me.’ She scoffed, pouring the coffee into the cup before returning, opening the door into the interrogation room and dropping into the metal chair next to Jon.

“Tell me why you called Dennis into the woods.”

“I told you, we were just going to talk.”

“What were you going to talk about?”

“I don’t know… things.”

“Just things?” She raised a brow, and George rubbed his hands together.

“Look… it wasn’t just poor Michael he was blackmailing, he was messing with all sorts of things he shouldn’t have. Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. I wanted to see if I could convince him to step away from my life.”

“I don’t think that’s the case at all.” Yako started. “I think you were sick of Dennis always messing with you and you wanted to punish him so you hired a professional to do the hard work for you. You depended on Dennis’s former trust in you to help him tie the noose around his neck.”

“That’s not true!”

“And what’s to say it isn’t?”

“Because I was going to kill him myself!”

A moment ticked by. The clock marking each second, Yako did not waver. She did not think George was the client either. George, for one, knew nothing about her and, for two, was far too clumsy to hire a professional in such a manner. The true killer would cover their tracks more successfully.

“I had packed my bag with a hammer and an axe. I was going to kill him, I had enough so I was going to kill him. But…”

“But…”

“I- I was about to go when my granddaughter came down the stairs asking about where I was going and I-,” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t do it.”

“You didn’t want your granddaughter to live under your shadow?”

“I didn’t want her growing up knowing her granddad killed a man. The kids would treat her like a freak the rest of her life; I’ve dealt with enough of that on my own.”

She was back to square one with the elusive ‘D’. All she had was the first initial of his name and his gender. Nothing more. In the village it was fairly easy to document every individual whose name began with D, and she came up with a list of names to go through. All sixty-five of them. Sixty-five individuals whose alibis she would have to check.

‘Ugh… why do they have to make this so difficult?’ She sulked, leaning back in the bench. If only Carl knew more, but he refused to move even the slightest on the matter; he fully intended to take the identity of his client to the grave, but why? Why was he so loyal on the matter? ‘He even said that his client told him he would be arrested.’

It made no sense. She glared up at the sky, demanding answers from it. The sky, of course, never answered. Like the elusive client its answers were hidden from her, tucked out of sight and mocking her with its silence. She threw her pencil into the air, flinching when it struck her forehead. She rubbed at the sore spot as her view was blocked.

“Come to another standstill, it seems.” Vincent, the ever-elusive priest, was standing with the sun against his back. He was back to being dressed in his priestly attire, and with the sun shining his silhouette proudly he looked almost like an angel. It was stunning.

Her heart was aflutter immediately.

“Yes, I suppose I have. The client has hidden away their identity almost perfectly.”

“Almost?” He tilted his head slightly; much like a confused dog.

“I know his gender and I know the first initial of his name. And that, at some point, he went past security to drop off the clue which gave me his name.”

“Which would mean that surely somebody spotted him go up there?” Vincent offered as he took the seat next to her.

“You would think so…” But nobody had seen anyone go near the forest. If the client went by, it was while everyone else was asleep; perfect for when there were no witnesses. “It would be easier if the security here was actually competent.”

“Yes, but I suppose the challenge is good for the mind.” Yako disagreed but liked Vincent too much to say otherwise.

The were quiet for a while, the chirping of sparrows filling the space for them. It was a strange moment of peace in such a chaotic situation, and Yako could not deny that she needed the space to think; she needed the silence to clear her thoughts.

There were only two security cameras up in the village, one next to the shop and one next to the church. Both were private, and permission had to be granted to look into them. She had already looked at the shop’s CCTV, but she had not looked at the church’s camera.

She glanced over to Vincent who had his eyes closed, his head slightly raised. In the daylight, Yako could see that he had a faint dusting of freckles just under his eyes. Barely noticeable they were so pale.

“Mr. Vincent, may I make a request of you?”

“Only if you are willing to return the favour.” He responded, keeping his eyes shut thought she could see a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“The camera footage by the church, I’d like to go over it.” She asked. Vincent did not immediately answer, breathing in slowly before breathing back out through his mouth. It almost sounded like a sigh.

“Of course, Miss Katsuragi. I’d be happy to help the investigation in any way but…”

“But?”

“I must ask you for a date when the case is over.” Yako blinked. Once, twice, three times. She did not know what to say; she was not used to being the one asked out on dates. She stared, her mouth slightly agape. “Was the idea truly so offensive?”

She shook her head.

“No, no, it’s just- ah, uh…” She thought, for a moment, of Neuro. But Neuro was not there. She nodded. “I’ll go on a date with you once this case is over.”

Vincent lit up like a Christmas tree, the grin that took over his face dashing in nature. How he had any interest in her was a mystery to her.

“Then, please, come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the chapters have been altered slightly for those of you who are reading this so please have a glance back to them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkest truths slowly creep through.

Going through the security footage was a job that was often left to others, but Yako knew that if she did leave it to somebody else then they would likely miss something. No, she preferred to be left on her own in such tasks and ordered Chinese as she went through the footage over and over again. She rested her head in her hands and watched the screen.

Finally, there was a figure. She watched them as they left the church and found herself confused. She did not recognise the man from the village, pausing the screen. Nobody else went up the path. She looked at the time stamp and wrote it down, playing the rest of the footage. Indeed, the man went up towards the forest and then came back down again.

‘Why was he in the church?’ Was he looking for forgiveness? Surely the church would be shut at such a late hour. ‘People should know his face…’

Yako spent much of the afternoon trying to confirm the identity of the man, but the image was of such questionable quality that this proved to be a challenge. It was not until she confronted the inn keeper, who was still surly towards her, that she finally got a name.

“That looks like Matthew Baker to me.”

“You got an address?” The inn keeper squinted at her, assessing her every move with an accusatory stare. It was like she was an ant pinned under the light of a magnifying glass. She resisted the urge to tug at her shirt collar.

“I do.”

Matthew Baker lived with his family in a small white-washed cottage not too different from Dennis’s home, but there was no rose bush in the front garden and most of the front was paved with a red Mercedes sitting in the front. The curtains were drawn shut and, at first, it seemed as though nobody was home.

She knocked on the door and saw the curtains shift. She frowned and knocked again.

“Matthew Baker, this is Yako Katsuragi from the police department I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The mail flap opened. Yako knelt down towards it and saw Matthews lips:

“Please, go away.”

“I’d just like to ask you a few questions, this won’t take long.”

“Please, I’m begging you. Please, leave. I’ll die if I talk to you.”

“Are you in danger, Mr. Baker.”

He shut the flap and for a moment Yako thought that he would not speak to her any further. Just as she considered turning around, the door clicked open. Matthew kept looking around, his head leaning out of the door frame.

“You have ten minutes and then I never want to see you again.”

They went into the living room which was comforting with warm colours and a deep red rug. There was a harp tucked into the corner and Yako wondered, briefly, whether it was Matthew that played it or someone else.

“Where did you get the necklace with the note in it?”

“I was…” He paused, clenching and unclenching his hands as he shut the door, locking it tight. “I was blindfolded at the time, so I don’t know who gave it to me, but… they left me a note.”

He went into a drawer in the living room, rummaging through various knick knacks as he pulled out a small scrap of lined paper. He handed it to her. The handwriting was the exact same as the previous letter:

PUT THIS ON THE TREE OUTSIDE THE CRIME SCENE TONIGHT.

“What made you not hand this to the police?”

“He was threatening to kill my family.” She could see why that would make anyone nervous.

“So, you’re telling me you heard him? What did he sound like?”

“I don’t know. He… he sounded familiar, but he was using a machine, so I could barely understand what he was saying.”

“Like a filter?”

“Yes. There were three voices layered on top of each other. One was really high pitched and sounded like a young girl, the other was husky. And the last… it sounded like a young man.”

“You say it sounded familiar?”

“Yes, but I’d have to hear it again to recall. Now, please, get out.”

Yako tucked the letter into the pocket of her navy trench coat. The thread in the pocket was starting to come undone at the top and if she did not deal with it soon there would be no pocket at all. She sighed, staring back at the house. Clearly, the killer was somebody that Matthew knew, but that could be literally anybody in the village. It was not so easy to trace somebody by voice and handwriting as it was by face.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. She turned to face it but saw nobody there. She frowned; Matthew needed some sort of security in order to feel safe enough to speak again. She would call in more forces. There had already been six lives taken as a result of this client; she did not want a seventh.

She was not inclined to believe in the reliability of handwriting specialists, but it was one way of working towards a problem, so she handed in the evidence to the police as she told them about the incident with Matthew, ensuring that he would not be left in his house alone; where he was prone to attack.

The notes, she observed on her own, were from the same writer. She had the locket being dusted for fingerprints, but she doubted someone so careful would touch such a thing with his bare hands, but she wanted to cover all ground. It was a pretty locket, she noted, as she turned it over in her gloved hands. There was a flower emblem on the front which looked like a sunflower, and the rim was decorated with vines. She was certain it was gold and when she turned it over she could see the back was scratched. It was then that she noticed a tiny hole in the back.

Curious, she looked for something to jam into the hole. Grateful for her sewing kit, she took the smallest needle and poked the end with the loop into the hole. There was a distinct clicking sound, and now a gap in the locket. She removed the needle end and gently pulled apart the locket. Another note was inside.

ENJOYING MY GAME DETECTIVE?

HERE’S A HINT FOR YOU.

WALTER.

‘Walter?’ Her first response was frustration at the mockery of the message, but it did give her a clue, so she could not be too angry at the writer. The writing was exactly the same as the others, so she knew it was the same person. ‘Is there a Walter in the village?’

There had been a Walter in the village, but he had died three years ago to cancer and was currently buried in the church graveyard. Yako had visited his grave with sunflowers, her personal favourite, and stared at the grave waiting for it to give her answers. No such answers came, not that she was hoping for much; the dead seldom spoke clear to her.

‘What do you have to do with this?’

“Back again, Yako?” She tilted her head slightly, and knew it to be Vincent. “This church seems to be heavily involved in your case.”

“As is often the case when it comes to places of community. The village hall is also the church so any drama that exists would naturally be found here.”

“That is true.”

“What was Walter like?” There was a moment of quiet between them. A cold wind swept through the area and Yako could hear the thudding of her own heart. It was as though someone had sucked all the warmth out of her, and that frightened her to her core. Why had the atmosphere changed so suddenly? What had occurred? She had just asked a simple question.

“Walter was a refugee from the Soviet Union.” He began simply. His voice was cold and attached. “We openly welcomed him as we were supposed to, but… well, one day he confessed to something rather dreadful. That he was a part of the re-education system for many young children within Russia.”

She had heard of re-education systems that had been in place before her time. It was not entirely uncommon within certain countries to do such a thing, but having never been involved in cases involving such things she could not say for certain that she knew much on the topic. Still, a chill went up her spine at the thought. She could only imagine horror stories.

“He confessed this to you when?” Vincent tapped his chin, thinking back.

“Around five years ago, I would say.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“No, I’m quite a private person.” He said it with a smile, and the way he said it made her think that perhaps he did not want to burden the others with such knowledge, or have Walter being chased out of the village by the other villagers. Part of her, the part that knew only terrible things could happen in such places, hoped that he was dragged out.

“Hey, random question, how old are you, Mr. Dolores?”

“Isn’t it rude to ask a man his age?”

“Nope, but it is rude to ask a woman hers.” She thought Vincent to be in his early 30s or late twenties but was often wrong with such things and quickly learned they were closer in age than she had initially thought:

“I’m only 23.”

“That’s a relief.” She let out a sigh. To be asked on a date by someone that much older than her would be far creepier than she would be comfortable with. Vincent chuckled.

“Perhaps it’s the way I dress that makes me look old.”

“Yeah, kind of.” She did not want to admit she just could not tell with Western people.

She ended up keeping the message to herself and going through the village asking about Walter. He was a former teacher and much of his stuff was still left behind which gave her the added bonus of going through all of his paperwork; not her favourite task but one that needed to be done anyhow.

She found a lot of old school reports and unfinished essays which did not compel her to read. It was strange to think that a man working in re-education in the Soviet Union would be a teacher in England. It was a disturbing thought.

Yako found a number of old photographs. In them was Walter standing with a group of men in a winter backdrop, the vague dark building of what she assumed to be the re-education system in the background. She turned it and read the date: 1996.

‘When did the Soviet Union collapse again?’ She could not recall but she was surprised it was so late. She would have been five years old when the picture was taken. She quickly checked her laptop for the date and was surprised. ‘So, this picture was taken after the collapse?’

She was stunned. Did that mean they were still conducting experiments on children even after the union collapsed, or that Walter had still been allowed to work even after everything fell? Was she thinking too deep? Yako placed the photograph down and went through the remainder of the pictures.

There were at least seven of Walter with various children. The names were written on the back.

Walter and Boris Valentin.

Walter and Anya Maksim.

And so it went until she stopped at the last picture.

The boy in it had an angelic face was smiling prettily at the camera, but something was wrong with his eyes. She could not quite tell what it was, but when she looked at the others she could see it in all of them.

‘What is wrong with their eyes?’ She could not put her finger on it, staring at the children with furrowed brows. Then she understood. ‘It’s like staring at a corpse.’

She turned the picture on the last image and read the name out loud:

“Dusan.” There was no last name. Something about him told her that he was the culprit, but why go after Dennis? “Maybe… maybe Dennis did something during his time away from the village?”

She decided she would call up his old friends. She would learn every little secret she could about Dennis and catch his killer.

Dennis, thankfully, did not change his name when he left the village. He was traced back to the army where he was involved in dealings during the cold war. Thinking on that, she investigated further. Dennis was posted in a small village in Russia with a large orphanage that was suspected of being involved in re-education, working as a spy there. When the union collapsed he left quickly and it was not certain whether the children were liberated or not.

‘Could it be…?’ Perhaps Dusan held a grudge against Dennis because he learned that he was a spy who did not rescue him. She thought back on those cold, dead eyes and wondered whether a child could be capable of such murder. ‘Yes, easily.’ She concluded after a moment’s thought.

She set the folder down on the bed and crossed her legs in front of her. If Dusan was the perpetrator he had to be nearby. He could do it from a distance, but how would he be certain that everything was a success without being there to witness it?

“Are you well, Yako?” She had left the inn to clear her thoughts and found herself pacing in front of Walter’s grave with frustration clear on her face. Vincent must have seen it because he had offered her tea which she happily accepted once she had gotten inside the church, breathing in the vapours with a sigh.

“I’m frustrated with this case.” She stated with a sigh.

“I can understand, it must be difficult.”

“I’m just getting more and more pieces for the puzzle but none of them are sticking together.” Vincent offered her a biscuit which she happily devoured, taking a second one then a third. “The culprit is taunting me with his motives which I’m certain I’ve gathered, but I can’t find him. If he’s in the village he’s hidden himself well away from the public.” She huffed, gulping down some tea barely registering the burn. “Why can’t he just show himself?”

Vincent hummed.

“Perhaps you should lay a trap for him?”

“How so?”

“Well, we have the actual killer. They have undoubtedly been in contact with the culprit before now in order to feel such confidence in them. Perhaps he has a way of contacting him again.”

It was only circumstantial, but it could work.

“Wait, that information hasn’t been given to the public yet.” Vincent smiled strangely.

“Your security is poor, I overheard the police officers talking when I visited Carl to give him his sermons.”

“Didn’t take Carl for a religious man.”

“Neither did I, but it is not my place to judge.” He dismissed. “You really need to work on your officers if you’re to keep your culprit in the dark.”

“Oh, trust me I will.”

After giving the officers a thorough lecture on keeping tight lips, Yako decided to return to the inn and have herself dinner. With her enormous appetite she was quick to get through her meal and order another which startled the waitress who took her order without question but certainly raised brows.

“You and Vincent seem to be getting along quite well.” One man next to Yako remarked as she enjoyed desserts of various sizes. She almost choked on her sticky toffee pudding at the remark, pink flush across her face as she tried her hardest to cover up her surprise. “Don’t look so surprised, it’s Vincent who’s not subtle. He’s been watching you like a hawk since you came here; really won over his heart.”

“T-thank you.” She stammered out. The man smiled and nodded.

“Yep, things have been looking up since he moved here. Far better than that old priest.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he was caught embezzling money by Vincent and booked it out of town.” He raised his beer to his lips. “Been three years he’s been here. Hopefully this is the last we hear of all this chaos. Catch that killer for us, detective.”

“Will do!” She mock saluted.

Three years? Then when did Vincent meet Walter?

There was something deeply personal about going through an old man’s belongings, even if it was to gather evidence. She felt like a thief in the night, with the sun setting against her back as a reminder of just how late it was.

Yako had spent the whole day going through papers, not entirely uncommon for her, in pursuit of evidence of a connection between Dennis and Walter. So far, she had gone through almost ten years of paperwork and had found nothing, but determination kept her steady, although frustration was clear in the way she slammed her coffee mug against the table.

In the back of her mind she was still thinking of what she overheard regarding Vincent. He had only been in the village for three years and yet he admitted to having met Walter five years ago and, not only that, but to gaining enough trust from him to discover that he used to work for the Soviet Union. It was bizarre, and it was unsettling. She did not like the feeling it gave her, but she would have to put Vincent on the list of suspects regarding the case if she were to ever feel secure in her answer.

‘Plus, he seems to know an abundance of information.’ It could be chalked up to the various explanations he gave, the officers did admit to gossiping, but if there was one thing she learned it was to suspect everyone; even the ones that seemed innocent.

She finally hit the jackpot when she came across a photo album. The pictures were of Dennis in his youth, for the most part, but stopped at a building Yako immediately recognised. It was the same backdrop that the various children had been held at, and standing next to him was a young boy, probably five, standing rigid next to him.

It was Dusan once again with his intelligent blue eyes and curly brown hair, pale as a ghost with an unsettling smile upon his face.

‘You wouldn’t think he could be a killer based upon this face…’ There was no denying that beyond the coldness of his expression he looked almost angelic. One of those top-grade students that could do no wrong and was certainly popular amongst their classmates. ‘Which only makes him more suspicious.’

She had her connection, she just needed to find Dusan.

Carl did not look happy to see the picture. He sat with his arms crossed and dared to look insulted at the picture for several moments before a grin stretched across his unpleasant face.

“I see, so he was right you are a brilliant detective.”

“Tell me everything you know.” She stated simply, mimicking his body language. He sat there, completely still, for some time and Yako could hear the gears turning in his mind. He was loyal, that was the issue, but Yako could tell he wanted to give a hint; he wanted to be just as involved in the game as his master. The question was what information would be true, and what would be another ploy.

“He’s living in the village.”

“Recently?”

“Recent enough.”

“How old is he?” He shrugged.

“Older than you.”

“Is he known?”

“Definitely.” She paused, thinking on that matter. She tried to think of someone that fit the description of Dusan from what she had seen of the village. Only one person came to mind.

Carl grinned.

“Figured it out, detective?” The shock must have shown on her face because he started to laugh. “He- he said, ‘I’ll give her one hint and she’ll drag me out like a dog’ that’s exactly what he said and that’s exactly what you did!”

She made to stand up, to inform the police, but she was stopped. Suddenly, she could not breathe as a meaty hand clasped around her neck. She gagged, trying to claw free but she was not strong enough and black dots began to scatter her vision.

“I can’t let you go just yet.” The police broke in and forced Carl away from her. She gasped, her throat raw as she struggled to regain lost breath. The world spun, speckles of white lights dotting across her eyes as she stood up, brushing her skirt off. Carl merely laughed.

“We have the culprit.”

By the time they had reached the church, Dusan had vanished. She still called him Vincent in her mind, even though she knew he was Dusan. It did not feel right to call him Dusan, though she was always certain to correct herself whenever she said Vincent out loud.

“He can’t have gone far.” One officer said to her when she kicked a nearby wall, frustration taking hold of her. She had been nothing but angry since that morning, feeling foolish in that she did not connect the dots earlier on. “He cannot drive.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t.”

“Well no cars have been reported missing either.” They walked through the church, ground creaking underneath them. It was a truly beautiful church with wooden pillars holding up an arched roof of carved wood and stone, the emblems of various families stretched out towards the altar.

Dusan had preached in here for three years with no desire to kill, so why did he suddenly kill Dennis in such a brutal manner? Was it money related, or was something else associated with the issue? Did it just take him three years to save up the money for the hit man, or did he target Dennis on that day for a particular reason? Why did he allow himself to be exposed by her?

‘What was his motive for any of this?’ It didn’t make any sense. Why go through such efforts to hide away his association with the crime then purposefully give her a clue that would get him caught? It made no sense to her. Why her in particular?

He was toying with her. That was her only explanation. Anything else just left her unsettled.

Dusan was nowhere to be found. They searched the entire forest for him, determined to catch him before he escaped, but if he had fled he had not fled to the woods, and when they talked to the villagers nobody had seen him.

It was as though he had just disappeared off of the face of the earth. A ghost in his own right. She joined in the hunt, certain that he could not have travelled far when she entered his home.

It looked like he had just moved in, rather than living in it for three years. There were no decorations, no knick-knacks. Everything was neatly tucked away and there was no personality in the house at all. No matter how she looked, or hard she looked, she could find no trace of an individual having lived there at all. It was like looking at a furniture magazine rather than a home.

‘As empty as his eyes.’ And yet he seemed so alive when she was speaking to him. He did not seem like a cold-blooded killer at all, and he did not seem like the photograph in the slightest. It did not sit right with her. ‘Just what the hell is going on?’

She sighed and left the house to pursue the church once more. She was hopeful that she would find some sort of clue there as to where he could have gone. The floor creaked underneath her, groaning at the extra weight as she walked to the altar. Standing behind it, she felt a certain kind of power there. She imagined she was Dusan and wondered if he felt a sort of power standing there, talking to the people that had done him wrong.

‘But did they do him wrong?’ Walter had confessed and was exposed to be working in the same place that Dusan had grown up in, and another photograph showed Dennis standing next to a young Dusan, but how was she so certain that they had committed a wrong against Dusan? ‘Because otherwise he wouldn’t have killed them?’

The entire case felt cold and not in a pleasant summer wind way. It was as though she had been suddenly thrown into a deep lake and was fighting against the awful cold along with the drowning. She was beginning to understand why Dusan wanted her to investigate. He wanted her to solve his mystery.

She noticed a seam in the ground. A trap door. She got down on her hands and knees and began to search for the latch that would pull it open. On the very edge, it snapped into place and the door lifted open, revealing a ladder which treaded into darkness.

Dusan was inside, she was certain, so she climbed down.

And was shot down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion

When Yako regained consciousness, she was bound to a chair with cable cords, and her leg was bleeding heavily. She moved her leg slightly and saw that the bullet did not have an exit wound, and it made sense seeing at it had likely hit the bone just above her ankle. She breathed in and breathed out. She could not panic in this situation or she would only get herself more hurt.

She looked around. She knew she was under the church as she could see the ladder she had climbed down to get there directly in front of her. The ceiling was stone and so was the ground and the walls, ancient stone kept preserved in the dark with the slight stench of rot in the air. Stale air that wrapped around her like a dusty blanket.

Dusan was pointing a gun at her head although she did not flinch when she noticed this. It was not the first time her life had been put in danger.

“You are remarkably calm.” All emotion from his voice had vanished within an instant. What was laid before her was a calm, calculating man so devoid of expression it chilled the very air around him, and Yako was certain she could see her own breath.

“I’ve had worse.” Usually with Neuro the torment session began with a couple of slaps before he took to other methods of amusement.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Good question.” She shifted slightly. “They’re going to notice that I’m missing.”

“That they are, Yako.” She cringed at the usage of her first name. She had said nothing the first time because she knew it was the standard norm in England, but it made her uncomfortable regardless and especially coming from the lips of a man threatening her life. “I do not intend to run when they do catch me.”

“Why did you do this?” He chuckled, and there was something distinctly wrong about it. It was too gentle. Delicate, even.

“Did you think I would answer if you asked?” In the darkness of the basement she could not see his face, but she was certain that he was smiling then. Smirking, perhaps, if he were capable of it.

“Your actions make no sense. You purposefully gave me hints leading to you, yet you also dodged anyone else being able to identify where you were. You could have escaped without anyone noticing yet you suddenly changed your mind and gave me enough hints to put the whole thing together myself. I don’t understand why.”

“Is it truly so difficult to understand?” His voice held a hint of mockery, raised at the end. Yako saw the gun pull away as he walked around the basement, the gentle taps of his footsteps bouncing against the walls. “I wanted you to notice me. And I do not mean the crime, although I was very happy to hear that you had been assigned my crime.”

Wanted her to notice him? Was he one of those criminals that became obsessed with having famous detectives solving their crimes for them, so continued to commit them in order to see the detective at work? She had only heard of such things on TV shows, she did not expect them to actually exist. She cringed at the concept.

“No.” He whispered in her ear. “It is I who you need to solve if you are to make any progress, Ya-ko.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then the bodies will just pile up.” He said it as though it were nothing, and perhaps to him it did mean nothing, but to Yako it was an unsettling threat. That unless she stopped him now there would only be more bodies on the way, and that she would be to blame for not capturing him. It was a grim thought. “We still have that date to attend to. You have solved the case, so I will hold you accountable to it.”

She was tempted to spit in his face, barely holding back the urge, when he leaned in closer.

“Good luck on your endeavours, detective.” She heard the gun cock and barely moved her head when the shot fired through. Everything went black in an instant.

The hospital room was starch white with white walls, white ceilings, and blinding white lights which caused her unbearable agony. She had all sorts of devices attached to her body and could hear her own breathing and heartbeat through them. She could hear her heart beat pick up as she sat up with the intentions of understanding her surroundings.

She ran a hand over her scalp to feel nothing but bandages.

‘What?’ She ran both hands over her head. Where was her hair? Panic began to settle in. What had happened to her? She recalled Dusan pointing the gun at her head and-

“The bastard shot me in the head.” She had barely moved at all, but it seemed it was just enough to stop her from dying. Perhaps Dusan had anticipated this because otherwise he would not have done it at all. That was what she hoped was the case, at least.

Yako had a pounding headache and everything ached by the time that her work colleagues came in with food which she happily ate, just grateful to have actual food in her stomach even when it caused her stomach to cramp.

“How long have I been out?”

“About three weeks.”

“Twenty days.” She winced. It was a long time to be out of the case. She inquired about Carl and Dusan. Had they gotten any information out of them?

“Carl admitted to almost everything once we caught Dusan. Couldn’t shut him up.” A criminal that could not stop talking, it was a treasure to people like her. “Turns out Dusan was an inspiration to Carl, and he’d follow the maniac into hell itself. Apparently got him out of quite the slump, if you can believe that.”

“And Dusan?”

“He said nothing at all.” It was typical, she thought, that he would be the quiet sort. She would get the information out of him eventually. She was patient, she could wait, and Dusan seemed eager to speak to her.

“Alright, so when can I have a crack at it?” The men glanced at each other. The discomfort was clear in the air. She watched them shift in their seats.

“Dusan and Carl escaped.”

“What?” A cold dread went up her spine, and she was certain the hitch in her breath could be heard by the monitor.

“We don’t know where they are, they escaped on the way to prison after killing the officers taking them there.” Dusan had escaped. That meant that he would be free to kill once again, and under any other name or face. She was certain, then, that she would have to hunt him down. She could not let him escape.

The bodies would pile up, was what Dusan had told her before he shot her. She disliked her buzz cut as she went about the gym, disliking the stares she got as she ran on the treadmill. Dusan had told her that if she did not catch him there would be more bodies to deal with. It was a grim reality that the officers would just be the beginning, there would be more to come.

‘The issue is locating Dusan now.’ He would surely not be able to resist giving her a hint or two. After all, he wanted her to catch him. ‘Which means he’ll give hints only I know.’ It would be an insult if someone else were to capture him, he would not allow it.

She tripped over her shoelaces and stumbled off the treadmill, landing on her butt. She could hear a few sniggers, and tried to hide her embarrassment by laughing with them.

When she returned to her flat a letter was waiting for her on the table. She wondered how it had gotten there, seeing as the door had been locked, and quickly checked all the windows for any sign of a break-in. Nothing was stolen, and nothing was out of place, just the letter.

She wondered, immediately, if this was the clue Dusan had given her. She opened it carefully, peeling away at the flap so it opened in one go. Slowly, Yako pulled out the letter. It was hand written, and she knew instantly it was Dusan’s handwriting.

It was an invitation to White Rose Mansion’s detective party. They were holding a murder mystery night in three days’ time and she was invited to join them as a real-life detective in solving the fictional murder. The party would be held starting at five in the evening and everyone was expected to dress in an Edwardian fashion for the night.

Yako stared at the letter for a long time before setting it down on the table with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. It sprung back in place, still too short to flow. Given a few more days and it would be styled by her usual hair clips.

‘Suppose I could buy a wig and dress up.’ It would bring her closer to hunting down Dusan. If he had sent this letter, it only meant that the fictional murder would not last for very long. She would not let him escape a second time.

The mansion was made of great grey granite which she learned came from a place called Kemnay up in Scotland. Cast iron black gates were opened and lights illuminated the gravel path towards the mighty mansion. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled above, the moon casting a blue light over the mansion and all who lurked inside.

She had taken it upon herself to wear a sleek navy gown and long blonde wig to hide her buzz cut. She was rather embarrassed regarding the scar on the left side of her forehead and spent far too long shaping a fringe from the wig to hide it. It also hid the scar that cut through her eyebrow from a childhood accident.

She stepped through the gates, her flat shoes crunching against the gravel as she slowly made her way towards the front entrance and towards the scene of a new murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading so far! I learned a lot about how to write suspense thanks to this and will be doing better in the next installment B for Beloved which is coming out very shortly. Hope you enjoyed reading this.


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